


Spoonfuls of Sugar

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Castiel is a baker who tries to guess his favourite customer's favourite treat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoonfuls of Sugar

Despite the constant financial related stress of being a small business owner, Castiel has been happy since his decision to throw away his ethically compromising position in his family's political lobbying business in favour of a plain white apron and a wooden spoon covered in batter. He'd always loved baking, ever since he was little, and, the youngest of many children, often had had practice making his own treats if he wanted anything to bring to school bake sales. He'd dreamed, before the pragmatic crackdown of college admissions hit, of going to a chef's school and becoming a professional pastry chef, but that idea had been quickly struck down by his family, and he was urged to continue in his father's and siblings' footsteps, as another gun for hire by private companies looking for bigger legislative loopholes.

Suffice to say, it wasn't a job he particularly enjoyed, but it did pay generously. And so, once Castiel had judged his savings to be sufficient, he quit his job, and opened a bakery, specialising in everything from whole wheat bread to hot-crossed buns.

It was a slow start in the beginning. The cheapest and most realistic piece of real estate being several neighbourhoods East of the areas of the city Castiel was used to meant that Castiel's presence there was a personal adjustment as well as a professional one. But word quickly spread once the first few customers started trickling in, speaking of the simply _heavenly_ treats and desserts Castiel prided himself on. He soon amassed some regular customers, including one man, who Castiel would come to learn was a teacher at the local primary school.

He first meets Dean when he comes rushing in one morning, slightly out of breath, with autumn air tousled hair that Castiel couldn't help but idly note was very alluring.

“I have three students with their birthdays this week,” he explains before Castiel can even speak. He assumes the man doesn't have very long before he has to be in class. “Thought I'd treat the whole class myself to avoid the inevitable sugar rush of cupcakes being brought in by three different students three days in a row,” he smiles a bit sheepishly in a way that makes Castiel's chest warm up. “Do you make cakes?”

Castiel _did_ make cakes, of course, and he just so happened to have made a two very delicious ones earlier that morning, and so he packages them up for the man who then introduced himself as “Dean, Dean Winchester,” grinning charmingly when he adds, “No 007 status yet,” and sends the gentleman on his way.

Dean wouldn't become his _only_ regular customer, but he certainly would be the most frequent, and Castiel was silently very glad for that fact, for he had come to like Dean very much indeed. Despite the aggressively social nature of his former job as a lobbyist—which almost required more of a battlefield mindset, and Castiel was a very good tactician—he had never felt very in his element interacting with strangers on a personal level. Dean, though, made conversation very easy, for his open manner and eager interest in anything Castiel happened to concoct made friendship come freer than Castiel had ever experienced before.

Which was why, when he finally realised he was also falling just a little bit in love with Dean, Castiel was loathe to ruin the good dynamic they already had, until he had some inkling of the direction of Dean's own affections. Looking back, Castiel can't help but wonder if he should have known from the beginning that Dean had been actively flirting with him from the first day. Certainly, at least, from the first day they began their little game.

It started with a request.

  
***

  
“Just looking for something sweet. I have this...” Dean waves his hand absently while peering into the glass display next to the counter, searching to remember his words, “staff potluck to go to, and you can never have enough dessert, right?”

Castiel gets the impression that Dean doesn't care much what he brings as long as it's from Castiel's, and that thought sends a hot feeling skimming down the back of his neck. Which gives Castiel an idea.

“What's your favourite dessert?” he asks. Dean's been in here frequently enough that Castiel has a general picture of what Dean likes, but the man seems happy to try anything Castiel suggests to him, and with each new dessert he gets to talk with Dean a little longer, and learn a little more about him.

The name of his brother Sam, for instance, was gleaned over a chocolate croissant, and the make and model of his car, over some sample madeleines Castiel had put out on the counter. He knows Dean loves his class and his kids, and has an undying love for Star Trek that Castiel doesn't quite understand but finds endearing anyway.

In turn, he's told Dean about his family troubles (quitting the family business did cause some unavoidable ruptures, to which Dean was very understanding—and from personal experience, Castiel had learned), his sister Anna's art show next month, and his inexplicable love of procedural cop shows, to Dean's horrified disappointment. Uncovering his absolute _favourite_ treat, then, might yield something special. At least, it doesn't hurt to try.

“Well, this would be for a lot of people,” Dean explains, not following.

“Yes, but what's _your_ favourite?”

Dean pauses, considering. And then an idea seems to come to him, too, as a smile that's somewhat more of a smirk blossoms on his face, and he looks Castiel straight in the eye, and says, “Guess.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. Of course he would be difficult. “Hmm,” he mumbles, turning to look around at what he has ready today that Dean hasn't yet tried. “What about... macaroons?” he suggests, picking up a tray. Dean seems like someone who would seldom indulge in them, but adore them all the same.

“I don't know if I've ever had them,” Dean replies honestly.

“Here,” Castiel holds out the tray for Dean to try.

Dean picks one up and takes a bite, and his indifferent expression quickly lights up once the flavour hits his tongue. “Holy shit these are amazing!” he says around his chewing, mouth still half full. He swallows. “Cas—yeah, no, how many of these do you got, man? I'm bringing these.”

Castiel frowns. “But they're clearly not—”

“You can figure out my favourite snack another time. You know me, sweet tooth” Dean grins, and then _winks_ at him. He is far too handsome for his own good. Castiel thinks. “I'll be back.”

  
***

  
This routine suits them well for the ensuing weeks. Every couple of days, Dean willcome in, and Castiel will have something surprising waiting for him. As much as he wants to discover Dean's preferred dessert, he soon finds he enjoys the process just as much, and loves those moaning sounds of delight Dean makes every time he bites into something new of Castiel's design (and does _that_ produce some other delicious images in his mind and other parts of his body as well). Sometimes, of course, Castiel's own recipes surprise him, too.

Dean comes into the store that day to see Castiel covered in spilt batter and stray flour. “There was a pastry mishap,” Castiel says by way of explanation for his current state.

Dean laughs heartily. “I can see that,” he smiles, eyes drifting to Castiel's hairline, where Castiel is sure there's still flour in it. He runs a hand across his head self-consciously, leaving his flour flecked hair to stand on end.

“The cream puffs I was making are truly unsalvageable, I'm afraid,” he informs Dean solemnly.

“Don't worry about it,” Dean shakes his head.

But still, he came in, Castiel wants to offer him _something_. “In fact, the only fresh thing I have to offer you today is the apple pie I baked for Mrs. Moseley, who called to inform me this morning that she was too sick with the flu to pick it up. It's not particularly interesting as an alternative, but—”

Dean's startled surprise drives him to interrupt. “You have _pie?_ ”

Castiel blinks at Dean's incredulous tone. “Yes, I believe that's what I just said.” That might have come out curter than Castiel intended, but it Dean doesn't seem to bother him either way.

“Have you _always_ made pies?” he asks.

“I am a baker, Dean. And pie is very simple.”

“I've never seen you make one!”

It's true, and Castiel often doesn't anymore. “They don't tend to sell as well as the more esoteric desserts.” He tries not to sound bitter. “Perhaps because the supermarket has pre-made ones for far cheaper.” Though, he thinks, not quite as tasty as his. “I do, however, make them still on special request.”

Dean rubs a hand across his face, as if this is the most life changing news he could have ever received. “Jesus, how did I not know this,” he says to himself more than anyone.

Castiel narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You like pie.”

“No, no,” Dean laughs. “I _love_ it. I love it like Ron Swanson loves bacon.”

“I don't understand that reference.”

“It's from—never mind. It's a _lot._ ”

The corner of Castiel's mouth quirks up. “I'll take your word for it.”

He then pauses, wondering if he should bring the pie out here or invite Dean into the back kitchen. It would make easy sense to serve it out here in the open, but Castiel can't help but covet a more private venue for Dean's first try of Castiel's personally tweaked recipe, where he can sit down and reap the enjoyment of free food at its finest. Looking at Dean's face though, who looks like he can't believe everything Castiel is offering him, he comes to a decision. Dean is someone who deserves good things, and those things deserve to be special. For a more practical excuse, he can also offer him a drink back there.

He opens the backdoor to the kitchen halfway and beckons for Dean to follow him through it. Mrs. Moseley's pie, he knows, should still be warm. It will be perfect.

Evidently Dean agrees, for when Castiel cuts him a slice and serves it to him on a plate, it seems like every muscle in is body relaxes into the flavour. “This is the best pie I've ever tasted,” he says after a few rapturous moments.

“Thank you—”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Dean half-groans, taking another bite. “No really, I don't know whether to make out with you for making it or somehow make out with the pie instead.”

It's just a turn of phrase, Castiel knows, but staring at Dean devour his dessert, and those luscious lips curl around his fork, Castiel wants to blurt out that he _emphatically_ would prefer the former. Instead, he says, “You seem to be giving the latter a good try,” somewhat dryly, but for him it's downright flirtatious.

Dean raises an eyebrow as he finishes his last mouthful. It seems Castiel's flirtatious attempts haven't gone _entirely_ unnoticed. When he's done chewing, he places his empty plate on the counter, and then very deliberately walks into Castiel's personal space. He glances at Castiel almost nervously before he leans in, and places a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“And how about that?” he says softly.

There are a million thoughts going through his brain in that moment: how strange it is to taste his own food on Dean's lips, how great Dean smells, how close his whole body is even when he's pulled back, but the most persistent one is that he very much wishes Dean would do that again.

Castiel grins. “Even better,” he complements, and dives in to get his own second helping of dessert. Even for a baker that can name a thousand uses for sugar, to him, nothing ever tasted so sweet.


End file.
